”Eff. Another oxen died.”

”What are you doing, Dwight?” Jim leans back in his chair, surrendering his attention.

”Uh, what does it look like, Jim? I’m fording a river. So, if you wouldn’t mind giving me a little quiet? Thank. You,” Dwight returns his concentration to the computer screen in front of him.

”You’re playing Oregon Trail again, aren’t you? Did you at least choose the banker this time?”

”Nope, farmer. I don’t back down from a challenge, Jim.”

The chorus of blips and whirs from Dwight’s computer make it feel like someone is shooting at deer with little pixel-sized bullets inside his skull. Normally, he might have found refuge at reception, but not today. Today she isn’t really looking in his direction and he would rather pretend that she isn’t sitting there at all.

”Oh, look at that. Jim Halpert has died of dysentery,” Dwight snickers at him, tilting the screen so that he could see those very words flashing before pressing the key that would end his computerized life for good with a dramatic flourish. “What would you like on your tombstone, buddy?”

“Pepperoni and cheese,” he mutters back, rolling his eyes.

Dwight’s still immersed in the game as Jim stands to put his jacket on.

“You ready?”

“Just one—shoot. This game can be so unrealistic,” Dwight grumbles.

“Oh, you think so?” he lays on a heavy dose of sarcasm as he checks his watch.

“Yes, it is. You see I just shot this bison, but it won’t let me carry it back to camp. It’s telling me that I can’t carry that much weight, but trust me, I can.”

“Well I guess you’ll have to write a letter of complaint… and send it to 1991.”

To say that sales calls with Dwight were an adventure would be putting it lightly. But those moments out of the office were the ones that made him wonder if maybe he could actually learn something from a guy who cites David Duchovny as one of this generations greatest actors and who reads Star Trek novels as though they were real books.

“Nice job in there, Dwight,” Jim says as he rubs his palms together, waiting for the inside of the car to warm.

“What does that mean?” Dwight eyes him suspiciously, his seatbelt buckled, and bag held close to his chest.

“Uh, it means… nice job? Really, that phone thing was a really good idea. We should use that again next time.”

The air still blows cold against his face and he wonders whether eyelashes can freeze. Dwight is quiet for a few uncharacteristic beats.

“What’s wrong with you today?”

“What?”

“I’m not an idiot, Jim. And whatever you have coming, you can be sure that I am ready for it, so… there you go. Take your best shot.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’ve worked here for almost a year now? And so don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.”

“And why would I be up to something?”

“Oh, let’s see.” Dwight reaches into his overcoat and pulls out a small notepad that he begins to flip through. “In the past week you have filled my desk drawers with paper clips, tried to convince me that dishwashing soap can be used as a substitute for laundry detergent, and told me that Patrick Stewart died in a freak beet-allergy incident.”

Jim shakes his head as he puts the car into reverse, wondering how you explain to someone that the reason you spend nearly half of your time torturing him is maybe to release some kind of unbelievable sexual frustration without coming across like a twelve-year-old boy?

“Look, man, I’m not messing with you today, alright?”

“Why? What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s nothing… I mean, I don’t know. I guess I’m kind of down. Girl stuff.”

“Like…hygiene problems?”

“God, Dwight, no.” He pulls the car into the Poor Richard’s parking lot. “Listen, do you want to go get a drink? I’d rather not go back to the office right away.”

“But we’ll miss the party.”

“Yeah… exactly.”

The bar is pretty much empty, which was to be expected considering it was a Wednesday afternoon. Jim orders them two Jager bombs followed by Yuenglings.

“My girlfriend dumped me.” He traces the edge of his glass with his index finger.

“Was she cheating on you? That happened to me once. You just have to learn how to be really stealthy when you follow her places.”

“No, that’s not… I mean, maybe she was, I don’t know. It’s just… I was really into her and I guess she didn’t feel the same way. I mean, she just laid it all on me at once. First that it’s over, and then that she’s quitting tomorrow, and then that she’s moving to New York on Saturday. How am I supposed to process all that?”

“Where does she work?”

“Our office. It’s Catherine, Dwight.”

“The receptionist? The receptionist is your girlfriend?”

“Was my girlfriend.”

“Bad idea. Dipping the pen in the company oil.”

“I don’t think that is the expression, but yeah you’d think so. But actually it made it kind of…” He gulps the last of his beer, not really believing that he is really sitting there baring his soul to Dwight Schrute of all people. “..hot.”

He can’t help but notice that Dwight becomes much more interested at this point in the conversation.

“Really? Like… how?”

“I don’t know. I guess the fact that no one knew about us made it seem kind of dangerous. Cause I could just sit there all day knowing that later--” he looks away embarrassed. “You know what? Never mind.”

“It’s probably for the best, Jim. Women. They’re unpredictable. Sometimes you’ve just got to let them sacrifice you for the greater good of humanity.”

“Oh really? And how is this contributing to the greater good?”

“Maybe she works for the CIA and she’s leaving on a top-secret mission to Russia,” Dwight says very matter-of-factly, becoming lost in a world of conspiracy. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Women just complicate things. Its best to stay streamlined and focused, no women involved. It’s a man’s world out there, take no prisoners.”

“Maybe you’re gay,” Jim replies, unable to resist easy bait.

“I’m not gay, Jim. Maybe you’re gay,” Dwight shoots back defensively.

“Struck a chord, huh?” Jim chuckles and pays for the drinks.

“So, do you think Catherine’s goodbye party is still going on?” Dwight asks as they step into the cold air.

“Maybe, I don’t know if I’ll go up there just yet.”

“Why not? Could be some great breakup sex in it for you,” he says grinning. Jim can see him slipping away into whatever alternate universe he exists in half of the time.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore since we’ve both realized that we’re gay.”

“Jim, you’re the gay one, not me. Not by a long shot.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. How could I not be--”

Dwight is silenced when Jim grabs the lapels of his overcoat, pulling him into his mouth. Their lips are rough against one another, both chapped and coarse with winter. He had expected Dwight to pull away or push him or even karate-chop him in the neck, but he appears to be too shocked to do much of anything but stand there, lengthening the awkwardness of his attempted joke.

When he pulls away, Dwight’s lips come with his a bit before they finally break apart, both jumping back a few steps.

“Well I’ll be a fucking monkey’s uncle,” Todd Packer gapes at them for a moment before walking into the building.

“I was just… kidding about that,” Jim rocks on his heels. “You’re not… gay.”

Dwight nods but doesn’t say much of anything. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Yeah, I think I’m going to take off.”

Jim walks back to his car in silence, wondering if maybe tomorrow will be his day to start over. New receptionist, new life.

Maybe tomorrow he won’t die of dysentery.